


Freedom Bound

by JulianGreystoke



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship, Asexuality Spectrum, Ava - Freeform, Beating, Brands, Culture, Escape, F/M, Freedom, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Injury, Lyrium, Magister, Magisters, Markings, Origin Story, Partner, Past, Punishment, Slavery, Slaves, Starvation, The Griffon, asthetic attraction, friend, life - Freeform, punish
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-18 09:05:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4700219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JulianGreystoke/pseuds/JulianGreystoke
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ava is the head slave of Hadriana, the apprentice of the cruel Magister Danarius.  A new slave appears in the compound and she doesn't know what to make of him.  He gets special treatment and seems too gentle to be Danarius's new bodyguard.  What can become of this young man with captivating eyes?  What sinister plot could the magister have in store?</p><p>A story of Fenris's life before and shortly after his markings are burned on, and his eventual escape.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Questioning Beliefs

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, what the hell am I doing? No seriously? Why am I writing this drabble instead of working on editing Old Gods, or any of the other writing projects that I have in the works? because I started, and then I felt like I had to finish. Ugh. It was originally going to be one chapter, maybe two. Instead we have three. I don't know what's wrong with me. Send help.
> 
> I wish I could say I wrote this out quickly and carried on, but of course I felt like I needed to do it justice even though it is the fanfic equivalent of junk food (for me). This is my cotton candy. My fanfic sweet tooth. As such this story might not suit everyone. I just wanted to write a story of Fenris before he met Hawke that wasn't about him having sex with Danarius.
> 
> Mostly friend-fic. You've been warned.

Freedom Bound

Part 1  
Questioning Beliefs

Ava had seen him a few times now. Danarius's new slave. What was his name? Fen something. He was only a few days into the job and she had to wonder at it. Danarius had never been one to have a personal slave before. Certainly he kept a lot of elves, but he hadn't allowed one into his chamber, to touch his food, his clothes, his person. This young man was different, but she wasn't certain how. He looked ordinary enough. She studied him across the long, kitchen prep table where he, like she, was waiting for his master's meal to be ready. He had the twitchy, uncontrolled air of a new slave. One who had not mastered themselves to stand still and stoic. Ava could be a living statue when it suited her.

Fen-whatever was lean, but muscled. A warrior. This, at least, made sense. Her mistress, Hadriana, had mentioned something about a challenge, or battle to prove himself worthy of being Danarius's personal slave. Ava had no idea what this combat had entailed, but clearly this young man had been the victor. His eyes flicked up to hers. She inhaled, more at his folly then how incredibly, vibrantly green they were. Eye contact, even with equals, was a habit he would need to break and fast. One misplaced movement of those eyes, however captivating they might be, could spell a beating, if not worse.

The cook plopped something down on the tray Ava had set before her on the table. Ava's lips tightened into a thin line. A warning. “What is this?”

“Eh?” the cook, a plump man with the disposition of a poorly trained dog grunted at her.

“This is not fresh,” Ava plucked at the limp leaves of lettuce in the 'salad' which was the first addition to her tray. “My Lady will not touch this.”

“Your lady-” the cook began, but did not finish. Even here in the kitchens wagging tongues could spell dead elves. Few people knew of the lattice of scars which already covered the cooks back and shoulders. He was careful to keep them to himself.

As the cook took back the pathetic salad Ava let her own gaze drift up to scrutinizing the boy. No. Not a boy. Not so young. Her age, perhaps a year younger. He would not remember. Ava herself had no proof of her age save what her mistress told her, and the healer's best guess judging by when she had started her monthly cycles. Her fellow house slave was tanned, with hair as black as ink he had cheekbones you could cut granite with. He was handsome, in the way of elves. All angles and eyes. Those eyes met hers again and she clucked her tongue. “Don't look at me, slave.”

“You are a slave as well,” his voice surprised her almost as much as his eyes. Dominant, certain, unbroken.

“I've got seniority. Besides, you should learn to control where you look.”

A bowl of soup was settled on Fen-whatever's tray. He peered down at it, obviously uncertain. He had clearly noted her disapproval of the cook's offering for her mistress and obviously wondered if the soup was suitable.

“Here,” Ava took pity on the lad. He was new, after all. No use getting him beaten just a few days into the job he would have for the rest of his life. Plenty of time for beatings later. “Grey,” she addressed the cook. He understood without any further prompting. He heaved a disgruntled sigh and turned to the pot ladling a spoonful of the soup out and passing it to her. She dipped a careful pinky finger into the steaming liquid, then stuck it into her mouth, tasting expertly. “I've served Master Danarius a few times,” she explained when the dark haired slave gave her a questioning look. “Oh, stop meeting my eyes! It tastes fine. The Master will like it.”

The young man seemed to relax slightly as two thick pieces of well buttered bread were set beside the soup. He hurriedly covered them with a clean napkin so they would stay warm. Perhaps there was hope for him yet, Ava thought, though he did not take his eyes from hers and it rankled her no end.

Their trays laden with excellent food, Ava and the new slave left the kitchens. They negotiated the other house slaves with the skill of dancers, protecting their trays from being bumped or knocked by clumsy cleaners and footmen. Ava was again impressed by the newest member of their little 'family'. Fen-whats-it managed to follow the path she carved through the crowded rooms to the stairs which led up to the servants' rooms, and then the lavish house proper. Well, she supposed, he was a warrior, and weren't they supposed to be graceful? This man treated his tray as though it were made of glass. Good.

They spoke not at all until they were clear of the obstacle course of elves crowded into the lowest section of the house. The kitchen was kept there so the rising heat from the sweltering room could help keep the main house warm in the cooler seasons, though Tevinter weather was never more than chilly at its worst.

“Thank you.”

Ava looked up, already berating herself for doing so. Eyes. Always eyes with her. Truth be told she was as bad as this new slave, and she knew better, dammit. “For?”

“Helping with dinner,” he said. His voice was quiet, respectful of the big house.

“You're welcome,” she answered. “I did little.” Now was her chance to sate her curiosity, “you're Magister Danarius's new personal slave?”

“Yes.”

“Prestigious.”

“Perhaps.”

“I heard you won the position?”

He did not answer. Why had he gone all tight-lipped? Moments before he had been thanking her openly. This time she kept her face down, her own dark brown eyes focused on the floor and her tray as she spoke, “be careful. He's a hard man. Know your place. A misstep will earn you pain.”

“I know,” he said. His jaw was tight. She could hear it in his voice. Had he already made a mistake? Already taken a punishment? No. He didn't walk with the gait of one Danarius had disciplined. The Magister liked those he punished to show their pain and their scars. As did his twisted apprentice, Ava's mistress, Hadriana. Ava pulled her lower lip into her mouth, feeling the edge of the long scar that began at her lip and ran up her cheek to her ear. A punishment for looking at her mistress. Hadriana hated to see Ava's face. She learned to keep her head down, to find her shoes fascinating. She had every carpet in her lady's rooms memorized. She wished she was allowed to grow her hair longer. She found she envied the new elf's fringe of dark hair which could obscure his eyes if it suited him. Hariana didn't like her slaves to have long hair, and it did give the volatile woman less to grab and tug when she was angry, Ava supposed.

Ava stopped walking, turning towards the elegantly decorated door to her mistress' quarters. She glanced back at the young man, who hesitated, knowing he had to carry on to Danarius's extensive rooms. She give him the quickest of nods, just a little encouragement. “I'm Ava,” she said, as an afterthought, so quietly she was certain he hadn't heard her properly.

“Fenris,”

She watched him move on down the hall, bare feet making little sound against the plush carpeting. She hoped he would survive. Danarius wasn't merely a hard man to work for. He was a sadist. He routinely erased the memories of his slaves, to keep them from getting ideas about escaping his harsh grasp. Ava had not had her memory wiped. She suspected that Hadriana wanted her to cling to whatever sad past she had, to make her more miserable. Ava wrapped her knuckle gently against the door, expertly balancing the tray on one hand.

“Enter,” her mistress called.

With practiced, artful motions Ava slid into the room on silent feet. She crossed to her lady's table and set out the dinner. Each dish perfectly placed. As she worked her kept her eyes cast fervently down, tracking the apprentice magister's motions with her ears. “Have you met Danarius's newest slave yet?” the woman purred, coming to take her seat and scrutinize the food.

“Yes,” Ava always kept her answers simple. Hadriana hated 'mouthy slaves'.

“He's good looking, isn't he?”

Ava was caught off guard by this. Her mind grappled rapidly for something, anything she could answer that would not get her slapped. Now she had hesitated too long. She braced for Hadriana's slim hand to crash across her jaw. It didn't come.

“I said, isn't he handsome?” Hadriana pressed.

How to answer? If she said 'no' she would be seen as belittling her mistress's taste in men. If she said 'yes' Hadriana would berate her for looking at a man. Especially one that she herself might fancy. The apprentice seldom slept without a male slave in her bed 'to keep her warm'. She might already have her eye on Danarius' new pet.

Cold fingers grabbed Ava's jaw, forcing her face up. The slave struggled to look anywhere but into her mistress's ice blue eyes. She settled for Hadriana's left ear. Her mistress's finger nails dug into Ava's cheeks as she squeezed too tightly. Then the cruel woman smiled. Her thin lips twisting. “No. You don't have any idea, do you. Like a good little pet, I bet you didn't even look at him. Idiot.” she tossed Ava to the floor. Upon impact with the carpet Ava sprang up at once. Hadriana hated her to 'wallow'. The faster she stood, the less chance there would be further humiliations.

To Ava's immense relief, it seemed that fantasizing about her teacher's newest slave had put Hadriana in a good mood. She was ignoring Ava now, already tucking into her salad. Ava winced inwardly. Poor Fenris would have no idea that he was not only expected to serve Danarius in whatever way was asked, but also Hadriana.

The night wore on. Hadriana liked Ava to stay awake with her as long as possible. In case she needed something, was the claim. She brushed her lady's hair until it shone, then rubbed in sweet smelling oils. She arranged her lady's night clothes and then her clothes for the next day. Lavish mages' robes which looked gaudy on the hanger, and more than a little ridiculous on a human being, but Hadriana didn't want anyone to miss the fact that she was the student of the most celebrated Magister around. She had money, power, and training, and everyone hated her for it. Ava heard the scorn in people's voices at parties and other social gatherings. Still, she thought as she artfully arranged amulets and enchanted rings, Hadriana didn't help by lording it over everyone.

Finally the male slave arrived, clad only in small clothes to show off a lean, hard muscled form. He briefly met Ava's gaze. He was a friend of hers, and a favorite of her mistress. On her way out of the room she brushed the back of her hand against his, for reassurance.

Then, finally off duty, at least until Hadriana rang for her in the middle of the night with some pointless task, Ava retreated to her tiny quarters in the slave compound below the house. As a personal slave Ava was allowed her own room. Well, room of sorts. Two wooden pallets set against a wall with a curtain for a door was hardly a room, but Ava knew better than to complain.

She picked her way past the slumbering forms of her fellows, all spread out across the floor, or jumbled together in little heaps. She never had much desire to join these, herself. She pushed aside her 'curtain' and tumbled onto the straw pallet and wool blanket she called her bed. It was better than most had claim to, and fell asleep almost at once.

 

“So you're the Master's newest slave are you?” Ava shot the speaker, Solomon, a warning look which he ignored. “personal slave, from what I hear.”

“Yes,” said Fenris quietly, looking shyly around at the faces of his new fellows. He was eating breakfast with them for the first time since he had come. “The Master has been training me.”

“Ooooo, la dee da,” another of the slaves, Marric, waggled his hands. “Look at the special one over here.”

“Hush up,” Ava scolded. Sol was the eldest slave in the compound, so he could get away with his line of questioning. Marric on the other hand was just too big for his britches.

“Are you worried, Ava?” The youngest slave was called Ben and he was no more than a child. He slid in to sit beside Ava, settling his little bowl of gruel beside hers. She casually spooned some of her own into his dish, as she did every morning.

“Worried about what?” Fenris asked, taking a bite of the grey mush which was his breakfast. He had to choke it down with a swig of water.

“It's like paste, isn't it?” giggled Hetta, a kitchen slave. Many of the kitchen workers were hired, for pitiful wages, rather than enslaved. The house was run by a mixture of slave work and servants. All elves. Danarius and Hadriana did not like human slaves. “Try some of this,” Hetta offered Fenris a little jar of what looked like snot. “Fish oil.” Everyone at the table grimaced and made disgusted noises. “What?” Hetta wrinkled her nose, “it's healthy and it adds flavor.” She poured a little of the stuff into her own porridge and mixed it in, grinning.

“Well, I'm off my feed for the week,” grumbled Sol, scooting his bowl away. A moment later he retrieved it. None of them would waste food. Meals were sparing and no one remembered what it was to feel full.

Ava watched Fenris eat. Though he obviously found the mash is unpalatable as the rest of them, he doggedly put full spoonfuls into his mouth. He understood the value of the food, no matter how nasty. She had to give him that. He was already a scrawny fellow, though there was tight muscle rippling under the surface of his tanned skin. She wondered if he would be given a portion of meat, just to keep him fighting fit.

“So, you never answered my question,” Ben nudged Ava with his pointy little elbow. “Are you worried now that Fenris is going to be in charge?”

“I'm what?” Fenris looked up, alarmed.

Ava made a tutting noise with her tongue, “He's not in charge. I still am.” She looked to the confused Fenris. “Around here, the slave with the most status is unofficially the leader in the slave barracks,” she gestured around herself to the big, windowless room in which they ate, slept and spent what little leisure time they might scrape together. “Before you came along, I had the highest standing, as personal slave to Mistress Hadriana.”

“But you're The Master's personal slave,” Ben wiped his lips with his grubby sleeve. “So you're higher up than Ava.”

“I have no desire to be in charge,” Fenris said tightly. He looked from face to face with obvious unease.

“There, you see,” Ava amiled. Inwardly she exhaled a sigh of relief. If this young upstart had felt it his right to come in and start giving his new fellow slaves orders she didn't know what she might have done. It was a wonder anyone listened to her to begin with. If he had started putting on airs he might have gotten himself pounced and given a 'proper welcome' with fists and clubs.

“Why doesn't The Master have me stay in his room?” Asked Fenris, startling Ava from her reverie.

Several of the other slaves laughed around mouthfuls of soggy porridge. “Because you're a filthy, unworthy elf.”

“Oh,” Fenris said, though he still seemed a little confused.

“Did your old master keep you in his room?” Ben asked, scooting towards Fenris. The little boy had finished his porridge and now had eyes for everyone else's. Fenris noted the child's advances and moved his hand so that little Ben could help himself from Fenris' bowl.

“I can't remember my old master,” Fenris explained, looking a little ashamed.

“Memory wipe,” Sol surmised, his tone kind, “it's alright, lad. The Master does like to do that with some of his slaves. Thinks it keeps them loyal.”

“Hadriana doesn't?” Fenris asked. There was a collective gasp from around the table. Even slaves who Ava had thought were not listening looked up, eyes wide in sunken faces.

“Never use her name alone!” Ava snapped, perhaps a bit too harshly. “She is Mistress Hadriana, or The Mistress. Do you understand?”

Fenris looked down at what remained of his breakfast, which was fast vanishing down little Ben's gullet. “Yes.”

“She's just trying to save you a beating, lad,” Sol explained. He pulled down the shoulder of his tattered shirt to reveal a lattice work of deep scar tissue. Years of scarring piled atop older, faded wounds. “They don't just whip you either. They use magic.”

“Oh,” Fenris winced as he took in the scars.

“Didn't your old master beat you?” Ben asked. Ava could picture Ben's small back, caked with blood and bruised. Even he had not managed to evade his first beating not long ago.

“I see a few marks on his arms,” Marric pointed out, scrutinizing Fenris. The newest slave looked highly uncomfortable. “I expect those are from fighting. Maybe he wasn't even a slave before this.”

“Not a slave before?” Hetta looked skeptical. “Why on earth would The Master buy someone so green?”

Ava puzzled at this as she watched Fenris. He leaned away from Marric, who had stuck his face right up to Fenris' shoulder, still looking for more scars. Not a slave before? A warrior instead? Fenris was respectful, even gentle, from what she had seen. What possible intent could Danarius have with the young man? Certainly it could not be that he merely needed a house slave. What had Fenris done to obtain the coveted position as personal slave to The Master? Had he killed someone? She'd heard of this before. Slaves murdering their fellows so they might have better chances of status or good masters. Fenris' pine green eyes flicked up to hers and held there. “Eyes,” she scolded, though very softly. He must not have heard because he kept his gaze fixed on her, as though trying to read her mind.

 

“The Master told me yesterday that he is going to have my help in a magical ritual.”

Fenris was leaning towards Ava, just fractionally. His lips barely moving as he spoke. The pair stood against the wall, well back from where their master and mistress were seated at dinner. The dining hall was lavish, the party well under way. Magisters chattered and argued. Every now and then a bit of magic would flare up, even though it was considered bad form to cast at the dinner table. Fenris was the only slave who did not flinch at these little displays. Each slave present, standing dutifully as Ava and Fenris were, had had magic used against them. All save Fenris.

“A ritual?” Ava bit her tongue as soon as she had answered. He was drawing her into talking again. He often did that, though she had no idea how. When they walked together with whatever meal they might be bringing their masters, he only had to say a few words and suddenly she was all chatter. However, what he had just told her made her skin prickle. She risked being caught conversing but it wasn't much of a danger here. The party was loud, the slaves ignored. Some, at the other side of the room, were opening talking to one another. Their masters must have been so lax, she thought with annoyance.

“He didn't tell me what the ritual was, only that it would make me more powerful. He claims that I am to be trained as his bodyguard.”

“Bodyguard?” Ava raised an eyebrow. Danarius had never expressed the need for protection before.

“Mmmhmm,” Fenris affirmed, still not leaning more than an inch towards her.

“Fenris, that doesn't sound good to me. None of us have ever been used in rituals before.”

“He said it will be a great honor. That he will be the envy of every Magister in Tevinter with me at his side.”

Ava felt a hollow pit forming in her gut. Like someone had scooped a piece of her away and left cold air. This wasn't good, whatever it meant. She wished she could turn to him, ask for more details. Hell, shake his shoulders and make him understand that whatever Danarius had in mind for him, it was anything but glorious. “Do you know when?”

“In a few days time,” Fenris whispered back. “He said he has much to prepare. He needs more lyrium to be shipped.”

“More?” Ava inhaled. Marric was one of the two slaves charged with the keeping of the lyrium stores. He had never once mentioned the supplies being low. He had always reported an overabundance of the stuff. Once he had even splashed some on his skin. He was burned and hallucinating by the time he made it to the kitchen and help.

“That's what he said,” Fenris affirmed.

The meal was brought in then. Well dressed staff carried elegant plates of extravagant food. This was every slaves' favorite part, and the most frightening. Far more than being surrounded by all these people who could melt your face off with the twitch of a finger. Each plate was held before a slave. Ava looked down at what was before her. Hadriana's portion. A roasted quail nested in soft, peeled potatoes and a bed of greens and vegetables. A little bowl of reddish jelly sat beside the wonderful smelling meat. Using the special fork she was given (to be touched by slaves only) Ava carefully selected a mouthful of meat, seeing Fenris doing the same out of the corner of her eye.

She placed the succulent bite on her tongue, savoring, but trying very hard not to look like she was doing so. The magisters were still ignoring them, Chattering away loudly. A new fork was given to her and Ava tried a tiny bite of potato, then the vegetables, and finally the red dressing. This finished the meal was taken and placed before Hadriana. Then all the slaves stood still, watchful, waiting for someone to drop dead.

Someone did.

Across the room one of the slaves grabbed her throat, letting out a bubbling gurgle as she collapsed to the ground. A general murmur went up as servants rushed in to remove the dead slave, and to take away the offending meal. The woman for whom the poison had been intended lifted her nose in obvious scorn. “That slave was expensive. I certainly hope that little 'gift' was not from one of you.”

All the magisters raised their hands, placating. Some of them laughing. “No no, madam Reddic.” “We would never, Madam Reddic.” “You are well respected.” “Such a shame!”

A new portion was brought out for madam. “I need to borrow someone's slave to test it, as my own is...useless now.”

Ava flinched when Hadriana snapped her fingers sharply. “You may use mine, of course.” Ava knew this was far from an act of kindness on her Mistress' part. Hadriana was always grubbing for status or attention. If she offered her slave to this important magister she might gain some approval from the room. Indeed, even as Ava stepped away from the wall to cross the room, magisters were already nodding approvingly.

“No,” Hissed Fenris. Ava stared as she felt his fingertips brush her wrist.

Ava felt her insides clench, for though he had been quiet, everyone had seen this gesture. She walked on as though her friend had not moved to stay her, but she knew it would do little good. Would Danarius take Fenris out into the hall for punishment, or do it right there in front of everyone? She waited for the sound of a blow. The gasp of pain. Nothing. She didn't dare look back as she rounded the table, but she heard someone chuckle. “Soft hearted for a bodyguard, isn't he?” a woman asked, a smirk clear in her voice.

Ava expected magic to flare. Fire to light in Danarius' hands. It wasn't as though he was renowned for keeping his temper. In these circles he was a big fish. It was foolish of whoever had mocked him choice in slaves to speak up at all. Still there was no retaliation. She felt a shiver go down her spine. What was it about Fenris that curbed their master's volatile nature. When she turned back to face the table, ready to try the food that was placed before her she flicked a glance at the Magister she knew and feared. He had a placid smile on his face. This might have fooled everyone else, but Ava knew that glint in his eyes. Like a fox that knows his way into the hen coop, but is biding its time until nightfall.

She tasted the food, her stomach tight with each mouthful, but her airway did not close up. Her lungs remained clear and her muscles didn't seize. Whoever had poisoned the first meal had failed on the second. Still, she knew as she walked back to her side of the table to stand behind Hadriana once more, people in the kitchen would die that night. She tried not to think about it and merely be glad that the party was not being held at Danarius's house.

~~~~~

“You've been quiet.”

“I'm always quiet,” Ava said, annoyed. There was Fenris and his wheedling into her silence again.

The pair rode on the back of Danarius's carriage, their feet dangling over the well paved street. Fenris had to maintain a slightly awkward position as he wore an immense sword on his back. He was required to wear it, he had explained, when he was out with the Master. Ava idly wondered if he could even swing the mammoth blade. It looked about as heavy as she was. Heavier perhaps. She wasn't well fed.

“I'm confused,” she confessed. “Master Danarius would have struck any other slave for speaking out the way you did.”

“I'm sorry,” Fenris mumbled, eyes downcast. “Will Hadriana punish you later?”

“She very well may,” Ava answered tightly. “I had been trying not to think of that, thank you.” Fenris bit his lip as though struggling not to say anything more. He looked a little like a kicked puppy. Not like the fearsome warrior he was supposed to be. Ava tutted with annoyance, but gave in to those eyes of his. “At first I thought The Master was treating you special because he wanted the rest of us to hate you, or be suspicious of you.”

“Why?” he raised a thick eyebrow.

“Masters do it sometimes, to keep the slaves from becoming friends, and united, possibly against them. They treat one slave more gently so the others grow jealous and conspire against him instead of their Masters.”

“But you don't think that's what he's doing with me?” Fenris asked, trying to adjust his position to be mildly more comfortable after the carriage jostled over a bump.

“No,” Ava chewed a hangnail as she pondered. “There was no one but me to see how he treated you at the party, and all those Magisters, his peers, watching. Even the most dedicated would have struck you.”

Fenris was quiet for a long moment. “So what do you think it was?”

“I have no idea, but this is Master Danarius, so it can't be good.”

The carriage rattled to a stop and the pair hurried to assist their masters down. Their conversation for the evening was ended.

Later Hadriana froze the tips of Ava's ears because she didn't like the way she and Fenris were “getting too friendly”.


	2. Night Terrors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Fenris gets his lyrium markings, his fellow slaves react, and I am a sap.

Part 2  
Night Terrors

The screaming started midday. Ava was hard at work trying to get a gravy stain out of Hariana's second favorite party frock. Able, Hadriana's favorite bed companion, was watching and munching a hunk of bread. His day was quiet because his night was often filled with their mistress's disgusting fantasies.

The cry that rent the air startled Ava so much that she dropped the frock into the soapy water and splashed herself. Able choked on the bread. Both hunkered low without thinking. Making themselves smaller in case their voices would shortly join that of whoever was already screaming. But no Master appeared. No magic sought them out, so they straightened, looking at one another with alarmed expressions.

The screaming carried on. Horrible, ragged cries of someone in obvious agony. They cut Ava to her bones. Every instinct told her to gather her people. Like a mother hen might draw her chicks under her wings. One of hers was being tortured, but she didn't knew who. What must they have done to scream so? She tried not to think about it.

As she charged into the kitchen from the small, highly fenced work yard where she did laundry and sundry other outdoor tasks, she tried to clear her thinking. The screamer was male, and adult. None of her women were in danger, nor little Ben. But there were many male slaves in the house. More so than female. In the kitchen the doors and windows were open to allow air flow as the cook worked on dinner. Everyone inside had stopped moving, trapped in that same moment of frozen panic that Ava and Able had just experienced.

“Gather everyone in the compound!” Ava barked. “We need to know who is being punished!”

A particularly loud scream, ragged as a dull knife, snapped everyone back to reality. The kitchen was alive with bustle as everyone rushed to find their friends. House slaves slunk in shortly after. Ava and a few of them went back out to find anyone who had not come.

Everyone was gathered in the dimly lit slave compound, sitting on their little pallets or pacing the room. Ava and Sol struggled to count heads with all the movement. The screaming had not abated. If anything it might have grown worse. Whoever was making those horrible sounds would surely lose their voice soon, Ava thought with an odd sort of desperation. Every time a fresh cry rattled through the house she felt her heart squeeze. As though she were bracing each time for a lash to descend on her back. Several of her fellows felt the same, flinching each time a new scream sounded.

“Ben? There you are, Ben. Don't hide, sweet one, I want to see you,” Ava urged the little boy, who kept crawling under his blankets.

“Is that everyone?” she turned to Sol, desperation clear in her voice. She knew they could all be punished for leaving their posts and tasks to regroup like this, but she was ready to take the brunt. She needed to knew her people were safe. Her people. So strange to think of. She was only the head slave because Hadriana had purchased her. Perhaps natural bossiness made her a sure fit into the role, but it still seemed odd at times none the less. “Fenris? Where's Fenris?! Fenris?”

“I last saw him with The Master,” Hetta spoke up, her voice timid. Almost drowned out by another horrible scream.

“Oh Creators, no...” Ava muttered. All of the punishment that Fenris had mysteriously avoided, was it all being heaped upon him at once? A horrible back payment? What kind of sick plan did these magisters have for the elf?

“Is Fenris being killed?” Ben asked, throwing the blanket over his head again.

“I...I don't know,” Ava swallowed her muscles tight with the desire to flee or fight for her life. Her blood burned through her veins as Fenris's screams sliced the air. Now that she knew it must be him she could hear it, and of course it was his voice. Another yell and she felt ready to vomit. What the hell could the Master be doing?

The screaming went on all day and into the evening.

 

The slaves struggled to get about their various tasks for the rest of the day. The screaming did not ebb. Anyone else might have passed out by now, Ava thought, feeling hollow as she tried to focus on her washing. The mages must have been doing something to keep Fenris conscious.

Neither Danarius, nor his apprentice called for dinner. Hadriana did not summon Able, or any of her other favorites, at their usual time. The screaming went on, though it was growing hoarse, reduced to something akin to sobbing.

All the slaves retired unwillingly to their barracks and tried to hold conversations, or attempt to sleep. None of them succeeded.

Some hours later the door was flung open, bathing them all in the light from the kitchen. Two of Danarius's guards stood there, black against the yellow illumination behind them. with a figure sagging between them. Ava squinted. At first she had no idea who it was. The limp form hanging from his arms where he was supported by the guards had snow white hair. He was nude, and his body shone with an intricate pattern of pale blue light.

“Shut him up,” one of the guards said, an edge to his voice. “I've been listening to this bugger scream all day. I can feel it in my teeth.”

The men dropped the naked figure onto the floor where he crumpled, still making sad, mewling noises, punctuated by rasping breaths. The guards departed hastily and all the slave stood frozen, completely uncertain and utterly afraid. What was this creature that had been deposited in their midst? Everyone looked at Ava. Fuck, she thought as she inched closer to the trembling lump of flesh and bone and blue light. She tilted her head, trying to see, to understand what it was she was seeing.

“Fenris?” her breath gave a little hitch as the figure turned its head and she knew the long, handsome face. She dropped to her knees beside him, hands fluttering uncertainly over his shaking frame. “Oh Maker! Oh gods! It's Fenris!” she called to the others.

A few moved now, coming forward. Sol brought a blanket, trying to cover the younger man. As soon as the wool touched his skin Fenris screamed again. A horrible, raw sound that made everyone flinch. He subsided into jerking sobs as soon as the blanket was taken away. “What the hell happened?” Sol asked, eying the markings, which were still glowing fiercely. Like tattoos, but with a life of their own. They pulsed with magic. Ava could feel it like static in the air.

“Some spell,” she guessed, trying to see how far the marks went. They cut a swath down his lean torso all the way to his groin and down his legs to the tips of his toes. It was the same with his arms and fingers. Two lines etched up the front of his throat to his chin. At least his face had been spared, for the most part.

“Was he beaten?” Ben asked, inching closer, his eyes huge in the dimness.

“In a way,” Ava said, still uncertain. “I think... I think this is lyrium.”

Everyone gasped as one. “Lyrium?” Sol exhaled. He knelt beside Ava, looking over Fenris's huddled form.

He was all bones and angles, curled into the fetal position his backbone showed, as did his shoulder blades. He looked like a skeleton dressed in someone else's skin. “What do we do? What can we do?” Ava asked. “We can't leave him like this!”

“No, of course not,” Sol agreed, standing. He stepped carefully around Fenris and moved into the kitchen. “Elfroot?” he demanded on the cook.

“I've got some,” the man said. There was even concern on his face. He could be stoney in the presence of truly cruel wounds, but this? He hurried to his cabinet and knocked aside any bottles that were not what he sought. He held out a little container, “that's all I 'ave. We don't use it for much.”

“Grind it up with water to make a paste,” ordered Sol.

Ava was glad he had taken charge. She knew how to treat ordinary beating injuries, and some magical ones, but nothing like what had been inflicted on her poor friend. “Fenris?” she asked tentatively, leaning her head down to try to meet his eyes. They were open, but gazing, glassy. He seemed gone from them, lost in some other world of pain. “Fenris, what did they do?” she tried again.

He made a wretched sound and shuddered, then tilted his head, eyes wide and wild with the pupils reduced to tiny points of black. “Mamae? Mamae?”

“He's calling for his mother?” Marric asked, leaning in.

“You touched lyrium once and you came back burned and rambling about the dancing qunari in the duck pond. He has every right to call for his mother,” Ava scolded. Marric fell silent at once.

“Here,” Sol offered the Elfroot paste. “Make him take it.”

This was an ordeal. Every time they touched his skin Fenris screamed as though they broke bones. He barely choked the concoction down, and most of it ended splattered all over Sol and Ava's clothes. Ava looked desperately at Sol, “wine?” she asked.

“No,” the cook said, though his voice lacked authority.

“The cheapest we have. It doesn't have to be good,” she urged the plump man. “If the Master even notices it is gone, I will take the blame entirely.” They knew she would. She had before. Ava would pile the mistakes of others onto her slim shoulders whenever she could.

The cook gave in, scuttling away and returning with a full bottle. The wine was slightly more successful, though it still got everywhere. Fenris was little quieter, but he did not shake so much. His whimpers were spaced out. His lips moved as he spoke nonsense, calling for people Ava didn't know, asking after his sister. Then his eyes seemed to find hers for the briefest moment, “Ava?” he voice was like a child's. “It burns. They burned me. Why?” and then he was gone again, lost in hallucination.

“Burns?” Ava repeated. “Someone get me a bowl of cold water!” No one moved. “Marric, now!” she snapped.

The bowl was brought and Ava dipped her hands into it. Then, fingers still dripping with cool liquid, she touched Fenris' arm. He didn't cry out. “Soak a blanket!” she ordered.

This time people reacted. Two ran outside into the little yard with a blanket and soaked it in the rain barrel. Fortunately the rainy season was on its way in rather than out. With Sol's help Ava draped the blanket over Fenris. There was an audible sizzling sound. The markings flared white, then seemed to settle slightly. “Fuck this,” Sol grumbled. “You, Marric, Able, help me.”

The three men managed to pick Fenris up, though he thrashed and even bit Marric on the shoulder. They carried him out to the rain barrel and submerged him in it up to his chin. Ava followed along with Ben and several others. Once the cold water was all around him Fenris quieted. His breathing came more evenly and his eyes fluttered closed. “Don't let him go under,” urged Sol as Fenris slipped to the side, unconscious.

They stood, holding a limp Fenris in the rain barrel for what might have been an hour before they all looked at one another. Their charge was shivering again, but this time from cold rather than pain. His nose had begun to run. “Take him out before we give him pneumonia,” Ava urged. She had sent many of the slaves to bed, but she had remained in vigil with the men.

They lifted. Fenris's skin shone slickly in the moonlight and he was still completely nude. Ava was beyond looking away in embarrassment. Now she saw only the odd tattoos. They had turned white, like chalk markings, and they no longer glowed. The ambient magic had calmed and stopped prickling in the air.

The men carried Fenris back inside and laid him on his pallet in his little makeshift room beside Ava's. This time they were able to cover him without him screaming.

“Is he going to die?” Little Ben was still awake. He had wandered over and was watching with concern.

“I hope not,” was all Ava could think to say. None of her fellows had died as long as she had been there. Not from punishments at any rate. They had lost one of the old to illness, but that was considered to be no one's fault.

“Will The Master do that to us next?” the boy nervously gestured to the markings.

“No,” Ava lied. She could be honest with Ben about death, but not about this. In truth she prayed Fenris would wake in the night so he could explain what had happened. What he had done to make the Master so angry. Her mind flashed back to an earlier conversation. Something about him helping with a ritual. Was this the help that was meant? She shuddered, tucking Fenris's blanket in tighter around him. His teeth still chattered. She petted back his hair, which was damp with sweat and rain water.

“Here,” Ben handed over his blanket. “It's a warm night.”

This was a common lie. Everyone knew these words. When you wanted to give someone your blanket you always claimed it to be a warm night. In the middle of winter any of them would have made that assertion. She smiled at the boy. It was considered insulting indeed not to accept such an offering. She took the blanket and spread it over Fenris. “I'll sit up with him.” she said.

“Wake me if you need to be relieved or he worsens,” urged Sol.

“Or me,” Able squeezed Ava's shoulder before retiring to his own little pallet.

Ava turned back to her charge. It was so strange to see him with white hair. He didn't look like him any more. Especially with his eyes closed. She could easily imagine this was a different man who lay beside her. She leaned back against the wall, looking skyward as though anyone from above would have anything to say to her. She might call on The Maker, or the ancient gods of Tevinter perhaps, but she wasn't certain any of them heard, or cared to. What were the blasphemous mutterings of a slave woman in all this grand scheme of life?

Her eyes drifted shut.

Something brushed her hand. She looked down. Fenris had moved. She arranged herself so she could face him, kneeling at his side with her legs folded under her. Her knees protested on the cold stone floor, but she ignored them. “Fenris?”

He didn't speak for a moment, then his eyes opened fractionally and she was startled by the green of them. So very alive when the rest of his looked utterly defeated. He watched her for a moment, as though puzzling. “Ava?” he said, his voice barely a mumble. His lips hardly moved.

“Yes. It's me, Fenris. You're alright now,” she said, harkening back to every time she had soothed any of her people when they had been lashed.

“Was...was I in the water?” he asked, trying to lift his head and failing.

She chuckled, “You were. Don't try to move. We put you in the water because you said you were burned.”

“Burned...” he seemed to be foggy, struggling to remember, unclear about where he was.

“You're in the compound,” she said, pressing a hand to his forehead to make him settle. It took the barest amount of pressure to lay his head back. “We fixed you up as best we could, which admittedly was rather poorly, but I think you're on the mend now.”

“Why does it hurt, Ava?” he asked, closing his eyes again. The lids were dark blue.

“I...I'm not sure. I don't understand what they did to you,” she admitted.

He made a little whimper sound and she wondered if she should wake Sol. Did Fenris need another dip in the rain barrel? His face cleared after a moment, his eyes opening again. “The Master...was...he said it was an honor.”

“An honor?” Ava cocked her head. “This? It wasn't to punish you?”

“He said I was-” he paused, breathing deeply, fighting back another wave of pain Ava guessed. She didn't dare touch him for fear she would make it worse. He settled once more, licking lips which were stained with wine and elfroot. “He said I was going to be special. That I was going to be unique. An honor,” his lip curled. Disdain this time, not pain. Ava hid a smile at this. In this moment she felt nothing but loathing for the Magisters who owned her. “I've never...I've never felt such pain.”

Ava made a little sympathetic noise and watched his eyes, uncertain what to do. “Do you need anything?”

He seemed to consider for a moment. “No.”

“I'm sorry, Fenris,” she said, absently playing with the hem of his blanket.

With what seemed a massive effort on his part he moved his hand until his fingertip brushed hers. “You...didn't do this.”

“Danarius did.” She wasn't certain if she had decided to use his name alone, without the prefix of 'master', but she knew from now on she would. Not in his company, of course, but to herself and with her people.

Fenris's lip curled, this time in a wince. His muscled tightened as another wave took him. Ava rested her hand back on his brow. She knew her fingers were cold, perhaps it would be pleasant for him. He rode out the wave and stilled, eyes opening again to meet hers. Something silent passed between them in that moment. A vow. A wordless promise. They would no longer stand for the treatment of these magisters. Whatever might happen in the future, each of them would bend their thoughts towards freedom.

“Do you think you could sleep?” Ava asked gently.

“I don't know,” Fenris hissed wearily. He looked ready to pass out again whether he wanted to or not.

Ava rested her hand on his forehead and sang an old song she had known all her life, though she was uncertain of its origin. In her dreams she could hear a woman sing it to her. She guessed it must have been her mother, but she had no way of knowing. She often sang it to Ben when the lad couldn't sleep.

“The sun on the hills  
shines bright as your eyes.  
The moon on the stream  
will guard you from fears.

Sleep now my child,  
there's no need to weep.  
I'll sit beside thee,  
I'm always near.

The call of the wind,  
carries my song.  
The echoes of trees  
will watch over me.

Wherever you go,  
must never fear.  
I'll be at your side,  
I always will be.

The dusk and the dawn  
will come and will go.  
The leaves and branches,  
fall into snow.

I will be here,  
I can never roam.  
I'll be at your side,  
forever your home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, I'm a sappy. I'm a sappy sap sap sap. Yes, I did make up the song. Some of you know that my favorite author during my formative years was Brian Jacques, and he always wrote such wonderful poems and songs for his books. I always try to include a song when I can.
> 
> In other news: I would highly, HIGHLY recommend against dropping someone who is almost certainly suffering from shock into a barrel of cold water. Magical circumstances were at work here.
> 
> So, this section was originally a part of a larger chapter, but I decided to split it, so now this story will have 4 parts. I must be stopped! If any of you wandered over here from 'Old Gods' the next chapter will come out on time ;)
> 
> If anyone actually reads this, thank you for your indulgence.


	3. Bitter Pill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris and Ava deal with the harsh new reality of life after Fenris' markings.

Part 3  
Bitter Pill

The next day Fenris was able to get up and even struggle into some clothes, though he winced as he did so. It was obvious the markings branded into his skin were still extremely tender. The slaves gathered around him, concerned, but he said nothing to any of them. He only gave Ava the briefest flash of eye contact before casting his gaze back down to the floor. She watched him, moving slowly, painfully, like one had had been in a bad fight. Every muscles seemed to ache.

At breakfast he ate little, but did drink a cup of water with a few herbs in it that the cook gave him. Still Fenris said nothing. Not thanking those who had aided him the night before, nor scolding them for hearing his screams and hiding rather than trying to come to his aid. Instead he seemed lost within himself. Contemplative and distant.

He was called for to bring his master's breakfast, and he did so, though Ava offered to tell the Master he was ill and bring the meal up herself. He waited in silence for the tray to be loaded with food. He watched each item carefully, vigilant for anything that would displease Danarius. Ava was so busy watching Fenris that she didn't keep her usual close track of Hadriana's meal.

Normally, when the pair walked up to the main house with their laden trays they would talk. Or, more specifically, Fenris would ask Ava something in that way of his that always got her talking. This time he was utterly silent. He moved stiffly, though obviously making an effort not to show it. She walked slower so he would not feel that he needed to keep up with her. “Fenris,” she whispered, as though even the volume of her voice could hurt him. He said nothing. His eyes did not lift from the tray. “Fenris, are you alright?” she pressed.

He didn't speak. Didn't look at her. Ava turned her attention back to her own path up the hallway. She could remember her first bad beating. Ten lashes when she was thirteen. She had made it to a pretty substantial age before getting a punishment so severe. She was good at playing the game. At keeping the masters happy. She remembered afterwards a kind fellow slave had seen to her striped back.. She too had fell silent and turned inward. Protective. Like curling around a wound. Being struck in such a way made you introspective, worried, jump at shadows. That feeling of never being safe again. Never knowing when the next blow would swing down and someone would count “eleven!”

“It's alright, Fenris. You don't have to talk,” she said, trying to sound reassuring, but her voice broke at the end.

 

The days and weeks went by and they found Fenris unchanged. He remained sullen, silent and moody. Though his pain seemed to lesson he still flinched away from anyone's touch and Ava heard him make little gasping sounds when he put on his clothes or armor.

The armor was new. As was the long blade he wore. Danarius seemed to have decided that now, freshly branded as he was, Fenris was to train to become his bodyguard. The elf spent most of his days in the practice yard beside the work yard. Sometimes Ava would peek through a hole in the work yard fence and watch Fenris practice. He was getting alarmingly skilled. It was strange to watch him take on waves of Danarius's guards, hardly breaking a sweat. He seemed determined not to let any of their blows land. He always struck them long before they could get within their reach of him.

On days when it rained, which were growing more frequent as the seasons changed, the guards would be allowed to remain inside, but Fenris would train in the work yard, attacking a dummy he had made out of firewood and old sheets. It was a gnarled thing and took a lot of punishment. When Ava was out doing chores she often looked at it sympathetically.

Still Fenris barely spoke. Even as Ava traveled with him when Hadriana and Danarius went to parties or special events. She found she missed the young man with the wide, wondering eyes that had been so unafraid and friendly. Everyone else was starting to talk about Fenris behind his back. How he thought himself better than them now that he had those markings. How he put on airs. Ava didn't think he believed himself superior, but she had no idea what was going on in that head of his.

“It's a lovely night,” she tried as they rode the carriage back to Danarius's house after yet another lavish party.

Fenris no longer sat, but hung on the back of the carriage as though ready to leap off at any moment. She was never certain why he didn't just do so. It seemed he had so little reason to stay. He said nothing in reply to her words, his olive green eyes scanning the cityscape for any sign of trouble.

The carriage reached the house and Ava jumped off, hurrying to Hadriana's side of the carriage to hand her mistress down. Hadriana had spent a frustrating evening. Everyone had been fawning over Danarius and Fenris. Cooing and doting on them, asking how the markings had been achieved. What could Fenris do? Could they try the same ritual with their own slaves? Ava hadn't been near enough to hear any of the answers.

Hadriana was in a bad mood. As she lighted from the carriage she complained loudly, “Ouch! Slave, mind your hands! You pinched!”

“'M sorry My Lady,” Ava dipped a hasty bow. She felt Hadriana's hand smack across the back of her head. It wasn't a hard slap, but it served as a warning.

The pair came around the carriage to meet Fenris and Danarius on the other side. Fenris actually looked up, if only for a second, and caught Ava's eye. She was so startled by this that she misstepped and trod right on Hariana's hem.

“You idiot slave!” the woman snarled. She slapped Ava across the face, sending her reeling. Before Ava could recover herself she looked up to see Fenris standing between Hadriana and her. His lyrium markings were aglow. His back was to her, so she could not see his face, but Hadriana was suddenly looking a whole lot less haughty. Ava wished she could speak. Tell Fenris to back down, but she feared she would only make it worse.

“Ah now, my little wolf,” Danarius soothed, as though he were not faced with something as deadly as a coiled adder. Fenris could have slaughtered both magisters before either had the chance to reach for magic. Ava knew it with certainty as she straightened, tense and watchful, her hand to her jaw where she knew a welt would form. “Be still, Fenris,” Danarius ordered.

At first it did not look as though Fenris planned to obey. He was still as taught as a coiled spring. Hadriana had managed to go from shocked and afraid to annoyed once more. She had too had straightened, lifted her chin and managed a dominant pout. There was a glint in her eye that Ava knew well. This was far from the end of the situation.

“Fenris. Come inside,” Danarius turned his back on his deadly slave and began to walk towards the door.

To Ava's surprise Fenris did as he was bidden. He slipped so easily back into the posture of the cowed slave that Ava felt a little jealous. She was good at that, but somehow he was better. Still her mind was caught on the image of him, glowing white-hot in the sultry evening, leaping to defend her. She wished he wouldn't because it only got Hadriana more upset, but there was little Ava could do any more. What was done was done.

 

After dinner Ava fixed Hadriana's hair up for the night, arranging each strand with practiced ease. Her mistress's hair was straight, uncomplicated. Ava was secretly glad the woman did not have curls. She removed the last hair pin, setting them gingerly aside on the night stand. The door behind them opened and she didn't look up. She knew it would be Able, come to put Hadriana in a better mood. The magister apprentice was still spiky, but she had not not struck Ava again. Instead she gave her slave little smirks which Ava knew meant that her mistress was plotting some new punishment to come.

Perhaps sticking Ava's hands into a bowl of water and then freezing it. Or sending little currents of electricity across the floor to sting Ava wherever she stepped. She had learned from years of experience never to underestimate the wicked powers of Hadriana's mind.

Hadriana turned around suddenly, before Ava was finished with her hair. “Mistress?” Ava asked timidly, backing away, her eyes cast down. Had she accidentally pulled a hair?

“Ah, excellent, so glad Danarius could spare you, Fenris.” Hadriana purred.

Ava couldn't help it, she looked up. There he was, standing by the door in a loose tunic and leggings looking stoic and unconcerned. Certainly he had to know why he had been summoned to the Mistress's chamber. Ava fought down her words. She would say nothing. Betray nothing. Seeing him standing there twisted something inside her like a dagger in her gut. Like some of Hadriana's ice lashing her skin. Why had she ever thought that her friend might be spared this last humiliation?

Her mistress must have sensed something, or perhaps she merely assumed. “Ah, Ava, look who has come. Your little friend.” She crossed the room and draped herself over Fenris. His wince when she did so was small, but Ava caught it. The magister did not notice or heed. She tugged the open tunic collar lower, revealing Fenris's chiseled chest, scarred with white lyrium brands. She traced her fingers along a brand and Fenris noticeably shivered. This seemed to delight Hadriana. She turned her gaze back to Ava, true evil shining in her eyes. “What's the matter, sweet? Are you jealous?”

Ava would not have described what she was feeling as jealousy. Oh no. It was revulsion. Like bile building at the back of her throat. Seeing Fenris in her mistress's chamber was so utterly disgusting to her. He was still silent, his face stoney and his gaze distant. He knew what awaited him. Ava swallowed hard because it was that, or vomit. “No my lady,” she said in a whisper.

“Oh, come now. I see you looking at Fenris all the time. I've warned you about your eyes, Ava. Foolish girl. Did you think he'd want you? Slip of a thing all covered in ugly scars?”

“Shall I go, Mistress?” Ava asked, forcing her own face to be impassive. A lifetime of practice was the only thing that kept her together.

“In a hurry are we?” Hariana asked.

“You don't like me to watch, Mistress.”

“Hmmm,” Hadriana pursed her lips still running her fingers languidly over Fenris' chest. “Very well.”

Ava had to moved awkwardly past Fenris as she tried for the door. She did her best not to look at him. She didn't want to have the image of him in her head, waiting for whatever their cruel mistress had in store. Used again, like an old rag, before being discarded. Once outside of Hadriana's room Ava ran back down to the kitchens and the compound, fiercely thinking about anything else.

She waited up. She knew this was stupid, but she did. Able chatted with her for a while as they nursed warm tea in the chipped, clay mugs the slaves were allowed to use. “She won't make him stay,” Able assured Ava kindly. “She get all funny afterwards and doesn't want you touching her. Like she remembers you're a filthy slave and an elf. She'll let him come down when she's had her fun.”

By the time Fenris entered the kitchen even the cook had gone to bed.

His head was down, his shoulders slumped and he looked asleep on his feet. His markings glowed faintly. His shirt was gone and Ava could trace every harsh line down his abdomen. She stood, uncertain how to best offer her sympathy. “Fenris-”

He walked past her without a word and retreated to his little room. She watched him go, a silent feeling of despair crawling through her. This was his life. Her life. All of their lives. She had been sold to these magisters at a young age. Had been selected by Hadriana as her personal slave when the woman had become Danarius's apprentice. She had learned how to be, how to stand and act as though she were of no value at all. It was second nature. Don't look up. Don't touch anything unless you have to. Don't speak a word. She'd seen slaves come and go. Those who couldn't learn were sold, or worse.

“I've seen slave markets,” Ava said to Fenris's retreating back. To her surprise he stopped, turning his head slightly, looking at her with one eye over his hunched shoulder. “When I was little. Magisters prod and poke and look at your teeth. You stand in your small clothes, or naked, and they look at you like you're cattle. Some even use their magic on you to see how you handle it. I thought this was better. Having a master. Knowing the rules. It is better,” she reassured herself more than him. “What's the alternative? Death?”

“Freedom.” This was the first word she had heard him speak in three days. He turned from her and was folded into the darkness of the slave compound.

Ava watched him go, rendered mute. That word, taboo in her own head...he had uttered it so easily. She had thought he had forgotten their silent vow on the night he had been branded. Perhaps she had made it up. Seen more in his eyes than was truly there. But tonight the word had been firm. Like a decree. Had he been a free man once? Could he remember? She stood slowly, unsteadily, and followed him into the gloom of the compound.

 

Rain spattered the work yard and Ava cursed under her breath. She used the word “Fen'Harel” even though she wasn't certain what it meant, but at some point it had found its away into her vocabulary. She rushed out into the yard, the rain already growing heavier. The laundry was still on the line. Not the Mistress's best things, of course, but still a bother to have to rewash. She scrambled to tug each piece into the basket she balanced on her hip, already getting soaked.

She swiped the rain out of her eyes with another frustrated sound and looked up as a motion caught her attention. “Fenris?” she asked.

He was across the yard from her, on the other side of the hanging laundry. He wielded a practice blade, which was sized and weighted to mimic the deadly sharp one he wore when he was acting as bodyguard. He looked up at her when she said his name. This surprised her even more than seeing him out there, training in the rain.

He stopped, lowering the practice sword, which was essentially a plank of wood with a handle; and nodded at her in greeting. Hurriedly she turned and stuck her laundry basket into the doorway to the kitchen, where it could remain relatively dry. Then she crossed the yard to Fenris, bare toes squishing in the muck. She noted that he too was not wearing shoes. The markings went all the way down his toes. She winced just to look at them.

She knew she watched her approach out of the corner of his eye, even as he swung the great, unwieldy weapon. She stopped several paced from him, folding her arms and watching. She wasn't certain what had drawn her over. Then he was closer to her than she expected, closing the gap between them with determined steps, his 'sword' dragging behind in his loose grip. His face was nearer to hers than she thought it had ever been, and her breath gave a little hitch. She almost pushed him away, but stopped herself because she didn't understand why she would. He was no magister. Wasn't going to hit her, or force himself on her, was he?

He looked down at her, rain falling from his hair onto her face. His own features where framed in white, like a piece of art. “Er, Fenris,” she said after a moment of him standing so close. “Is there...something you wanted?”

“I wanted to talk,” he admitted, his voice quiet. He didn't cage her with his arms against the wall, didn't touch her at all. Still, his eyes held her, if willingly.

“About?” she felt her cheeks go hot. The males slaves seldom got this close to her. None of them were interested in her in 'that' way. In general they kept this business to themselves. No use her getting involved, being their pseudo boss and all. Also, they had no way to prevent pregnancies and everyone was careful. Pregnant slaves were often cast out, or killed.

“I can't talk inside. I don't want everyone to hear yet. Out here is better... and the rain... I can't feel my markings in the rain. It's cooler.”

“I see,” she squeaked embarrassingly. Her own hands remained firmly at her sides. She wasn't certain what she should be doing or feeling. Fenris was her friend, and she had hoped that one day he would come back around to speaking to her, but this was odd. Certainly she recognized that he was handsome, but did she feel this way about him? Standing this close her body didn't ignite with eager fire. There was no lust, no longing, but she still liked it. The proximity of him. The way he curled down over her, like a protective shell. He was even shielding her from the rain a bit.

“I wanted to talk to you about escape.”

“Es-” she couldn't even make herself say the word. Her eyes went wide. “Fenris, are you insane? We can't escape! Danarius would hunt us down and kill us. That's if we got out of the house at all! His guards would slaughter any of us.”

“Not if I fight them.” Fenris said, his eyes boring into hers. His intensity rolled off of him like waves of magic. She could feel it to the ends of her toes. “Danarius is foolish, sloppy. He trains me in combat, and I play the part of the willing, cowed slave, but what he's really doing is building a slave who can defeat him.”

“How long...?” she managed to hiss.

“Since these,” he held up his hand. The lyruim brand stood out against his skin, even in the dusky dimness of the rainy yard.

“Fenris I-”

“I want you to come with me. I want to get the others out too, but I don't think they'll go. At least not all of them. But you-”

“Me?”

“I know you've been in this life a long time, and you know it, but I see you. Little things you do that will forever mark you as a woman who should be free. Come with me Ava?” he took her hand. His fingers were cold with the rain, as hers were. His eyes were inescapable. Too large with almost the look of a wild animal, though admittedly Ava had not seen many of those in her life.

“I... will think about it,” she answered finally.

“And decide which of the others would come with us?” he asked, giving her fingers a little squeeze. She didn't answer and his expression grew more concerned. A line formed between his thick brows. “Ava, tell me you aren't going to turn me in! Tell me I guessed right about you.”

“You...you did,” she said, and as the words fell from her lips she knew they were true. “But, won't I slow you down?”

“You know this house like the back of your hand. I suspect you've memorized every guard rotation without even realizing. You have everything, every servants' movements, very meal time, down to the second.” he hadn't let go of her hand and her fingers were starting to warm, though her nose was beginning to run. She knew it was going red at the tip. “You won't be dead weight. I'll need you.”

She thought for a long moment, not looking into his eyes. If she did she knew she would answer yes without hesitation. That was his power. Finally she lifted her gaze back to his. “I'll do it. When?”

“A fortnight, if all goes to plan,” he responded, a look of extreme relief washing over him. “Thank you,” he said, cupping her jaw for the barest moment before pulling back from her. “I'll have more information to you shortly,” he smiled. The first smile she had seen since his skin had been branded. It was like the sun finally shining after a long night. She smiled too, her lips unused to the motion. The scar on her face tightened. He was almost beaming.

The two parted ways, each already plotting their next move. Ava processing the notion that she might one day walk the earth as a free woman. It seemed impossible. What did free women even do? She looked over her shoulder at Fenris. He had gone back to hacking away at the hapless practice dummy, slicing through the rainy air with his 'sword' as easily as he would with the real thing.

The escape was planned, but never carried out. A week before it was to take place Danarius took Fenris and left for parts unknown to the slaves. Some days later the magister returned, but without his bodyguard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Freedom was within poor Ava's grasp and then ripped away. Of course, Fenris has been left behind to the fog warriors. Will Ava ever see him again?
> 
> I had the rain scene in mind for a little bit, but I hemmed and hawed about turning it into a romance scene. Obviously I decided against it. I had been thinking of making Ava an asexual character as my first, easy foray into this idea. I think I like it for Ava. She's still attracted to Fenris, but just not sexually. ;)
> 
> I hope you enjoyed another random chapter of this random fic.


	4. Blade of Mercy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Fenris and Ava have a chance a freedom, but will they succeed?

Part 4  
Blade of Mercy

 

Ava did not see Fenris again for months. She lost track of how many, but the rainy seasons was ebbing slowly to a close by the time Danarius had recovered himself enough to venture a journey to find his lost slave. Yes. Lost, not dead. Ava clung to those words every day. Her friend was out there, and he was free. Many times she thought of his escape plan. Of trying to implement it herself. She secreted a knife into a special pocket she had sewn on the inside of her dress, but she knew she could never slay a guard with it. She needed Fenris's blade.

He would never be coming back. If he had any sense he would have fled far and hidden well. Even with his distinctive markings he should be able to keep a low profile. Couldn't he? She had only known Fenris as a fellow slave. What was he like as a free elf? What was she?

As she continued the daily drudge of caring for her mistress Ava kept her ears open at all times. Apparently Danarius had been seriously injured by creatures called 'Fog Warriors' when he had visited an island. What was it, Seheron? He had fled, leaving Fenris behind. Every day, it seemed, he railed against this decisions. Fenris was his pride, his power, an example of what he had that no other could possess. Ava wondered how many magisters had tried the lyrium ritual on their own slaves and failed. How many lyrium scarred bodies were tossed into the gutter.

“You should have let me go with you,” Hardriana insisted after another of Daraius's rants. “If there had been two of us those Fog Warriors would not have stood a chance.

“I hardly got out of there myself,” Danarius grumbled. “The ship we fled on was crowded, if I had to leave Fenris, I would have had to leave you too.”

“You would have...?” Hadriana looked aghast, stepping back slightly from her teacher.

“Fenris is my greatest creation. You are my best student. Don't you think I would have kept him or you if I was able? There was no time.”

This seemed to settle Hadriana slightly, though her face was still bitter, her eyes still narrowed. Ava stood in the corner, awaiting orders. To be sent for tea or food. She kept her head down, her hands clasped demurely before her. She was certain that the humans had forgotten she was there. She was furniture. A fixture, not a person. This served her just fine. She might have smiled when she heard Danrius shift in his chair, trying to get comfortable, “never fear, Hadriana. When I go back to reclaim my lost wolf, I shall bring you along as well.”

“Ah,” the apprentice did not sound as excited as she had before. Ava suspected it was far easier to claim bravery over a situation that had long since resolved. “Very well,” the woman agreed. The pair settled back in to their conversation and Ava zoned out of it. If her mistress sailed to Seheron she would certainly bring at least one slave. Ava chewed her lip. If Fenris had gotten free, perhaps she could as well. She thought of the others. Of little Ben. Of intelligent Sol. There was no way they would be allowed to come along. It hurt her to think of it, but a different part of her soared. Her soul had been given wings that rainy day in the courtyard, and it hadn't stopped flapping since.

 

Being on a ship was nothing like being in a carriage. Everything was always moving, but not with little bumps and jostles. Instead it was a constant sway, the smell of dead fish and live humans intermingling, it was almost too much for Ava. She had to keep herself together, however, because she was there to serve her mistress. Hadriana was a demanding woman indeed. Her water had to be fresh. If it had sat for more than a few hours it was to be thrown away. Ava usually just drank it herself, because she had once splashed a full cup over the side and received such glares from the sailors that she did not do so again. Fresh water was precious aboard.

Ava was interested to see that the ship was often hurried along its path by weather mages. This might have given her pause, but the mages here did not behave as magisters. They wore ordinary clothes and their staves were plain with simple crystals set in their tops. The mages didn't put on airs or belittle their fellows. Instead they worked at their craft with a kind of dignity Ava was not accustomed to. She could have watched them for hours. Some of them were even elves, and they mingled with their human counterparts easily.

One of the crew, a young man with long brown hair swept back in a braid, caught her staring. “Fereldan mages,” he explained, understanding her confused scrutiny.

“Fereldan?” Ava cocked her head.

“Haven't you heard of Fereledan before?” the man raised an eyebrow.

Ava wanted to say 'I'm a slave' but decided against it. Instead she simply shook her head.

The man glanced around the deck to be certain he was not going to be scolded for laziness, then turned back to her. “Fereldan is a land to the south and east of here. They're colder there, but their mages and circles are very different. And their Divine is always female. Who ever heard of that?” he cocked an eyebrow.

Ava wasn't certain what he was talking about, but she too raised an eyebrow, in agreement. “What is Fereldan like?”

“I dunno. They love dogs, from what I hear. These mages, they came from a circle called Kinloch Hold. They say they like it better being aboard ship and all, but their circle wasn't so bad. They say some others are much worse. I've heard about the circles in Kirwall for example. Those are supposed to be rubbish.” The sailor seemed to realize he was rambling and fell silent. The novelty of being spoken to so pleasantly by a human was not lost on Ava. She had noticed that the crew seemed less likely to treat her like a slave. She suspected there were even ex-slaves in their ranks.

She pondered the man's words. Dogs? What an odd thing for a nation to love, Ava thought, though she did not comment. Instead she asked, “they have elven mages. Is it like in Tevinter, where if a slave is found to have power and talent they are freed?”

“Slave? Fereldans don't keep no slaves,” the man said, again making an expression which indicated he thought this notion too was crazy. “They're a different bunch, I can tell you. Sleep with their dogs and don't keep slaves. No wonder these mages were in a hurry to leave.” He chuckled.

Ava thought she might sleep with a whole bed full of dogs if she could live in a place with no slavery. Was that even possible? Perhaps the sailor was having her on. Still, for the next several days at sea she could not get the idea out of her head, though the dog thing was still confusing.

 

Seheron was a jungle. Ava had never been in a jungle before. Never seen so many trees in one place and so close together. The air was thick and sweet smelling. It beaded moisture on her skin before she even had a chance to sweat. Her eyes were drawn to every brightly colored bird that cawed or crowed in the branches above. The place was perfect.

She had no idea why she liked it. The lack of walls? The fact that she was no longer aboard the ship? She might have knelt and kissed the pebbly sands of the beach. She wanted to touch every tree. To memorize the feel of each leaf and stone. This much wildness called to some part of her she didn't even know she had.

Only twenty of the men went with Danarius and Hadriana into the jungle. The ones that did were afraid. They slept little and spoke in low tones of the dangers all around them. Ava was certain, as they ventured deeper in, that this place was deadly. She saw a huge, green snake coiled around a thick branch just off the path. It watched her with placid eyes the color of blood droplets. She gave it a respectful nod, as she might another house slave of her rank. Better to treat these creatures as kin, she surmised, just in case they had some idea of what she was doing.

One night a huge, shadowy shape prowled too close to the camp. The men sprang up, spears and magics at the ready. Danarius and Hadriana's spells flew and soon the animal was felled. A cat, bigger than any that Ava had seen. She had known fat, overfed house pets, but never an animals so huge and sleek. She wished she knew a death prayer for it. It had not attacked them, only ventured too near, and mages, like poisonous snakes, will strike out even if there is to threat.

Hariana kept Ava busy enough. There were a few other slaves that had been brought to carry and keep track of supplies. None of them were slaves that Ava knew. Some had been aboard the ship already when they had embarked. They were a quiet, sullen lot, doing their tasks without question. At least they were well trained, though they had no respect for Ava, even if she was Hadriana's personal slave.

Hadriana made constant demands of Ava. She wished to be fanned, to have her hair arranged this way or arranged that way to keep it off her neck. Ava should carry her staff, or fetch her different shoes because hers were soaked through already. Everything about the jungle was soggy. It made the rainy season back home look like a gentle shower. Ava was unused to uneven paths and tripped often over rock or branch.

 

It was perhaps three days into the jungle when they found the Fog Warriors. Or rather, the Fog Warriors found them.

A thick mist as high as a human's head had rolled in that morning, slinking between the trees and coating everything in white. This was another novel experience for Ava and she found it most intriguing. At least she did until a spear suddenly appeared in the chest of the man standing nearest her.

Then there was chaos. Ava instinctively dropped to the ground, curling up under the blanket of mist and trying to make herself as small as possible. It was her best skill, being unnoticed, though these circumstances were very different from what she was used to. Overhead she saw flashes against the creeping white of the fog and heard a great deal of shouting. Someone tripped over her, cracking their shin into her spine, but she only curled all the tighter, her hand groping for her knife. She had carried it all this way, hidden on her person. She supposed she might have to make use of it. She held it carefully, so she would not stab herself by mistake.

This time when a leg drew too close to her she slashed with her little knife. She heard the desire yelped and the leg moved away. She had no idea whose limb it had been, but in this circumstance she knew no one here was an ally.

More yelling. More magic. Then a voice that startled her so badly she sat up. She still couldn't see through the fog, so she stood up, her gaze questing. The battle seemed to have stilled and she could make out shapes. One at least was a mage. A staff was raised, shedding what little light it could manage in the malaise.

Ava crept closer to the group. Danarius and Hadriana. She knew their shapes even in the fog. And another. His skin aglow with eery luminescence. She bit back a little yell. It was Fenris. His frost white hair shone in the light of his markings and Hadriana's magic.

“M...Master?” Fenris' voice was hoarse, small. He looked as astonished as Ava knew she must have.

“Little Wolf!” the magister said, his voice joyous. “I knew I would find you! I have come to take you home!”

“Master...” Fenris said again, as though he could not believe; could not understand the pure wrongness of this situation.

“Yes, Little Wolf. I have returned for you!” Danarius stepped towards Fenris, grasping the elf's shoulder. “You look so fit! That is wonderful! You've been thriving!” Fenris said nothing, merely stared, as though something inside him had snapped loose and he was trying to find the frayed ends.  
Ava stepped closer, her knife still brandished, though she had forgotten it was in her hand. She wished Fenris would notice her, but his face was fixed on his master's.

There was a loud whooshing sound and Danarius cried out in pain. Something and pierced his side. An arrow. The fog warriors were not defeated. More arrows, more spears. Ava ducked again, though she remained on her knees, trying to see, trying to find Fenris.

“Fenris...kill them!” gasped Danarius.

Fenris was a flash of pale blue light in the jungle. He still wielded his massive blade, swinging it with precision. Efficiently cutting down Fog Warrior after Fog Warrior as though they were nothing put moths to be swatted. Ava had no idea how he even knew where the attackers were. She never even saw them until their death scream echoed and their body fell heavily to earth. They seemed as confused as she. Few seemed to defend themselves as Fenris cut them down. He rushed like a wind through their ranks. Ava had never seen anyone move like that in her life. Her mouth hung open in purest awe.

And then he was finished. Fenris stood panting, covered in blood, his markings glowing faintly. The mist was drifting away revealing so many bodies. Ava hand to put a hand over her mouth to keep her breakfast down. The leafy ground was a mess of blood and bone and internal organs. She staggered back, running into one of the few remaining warriors of Danarius's party. The man didn't even seem to notice her.

“Well done...” Danarius panted.

Hadriana was already looking to the arrow lodged in the Magister's side. “Ava! A mana potion. Quickly!”

“Mistress,” Ava mumbled. “They are all broken.”

She was not lying. The case containing the potions had been overturned in the combat. The ground was stained with blue and pocked with shards of glass. Hadriana swore in Tevene, giving Ava a deadly glare. “We must retreat. We must get back to the ship!”

“I have what I came for,” Danarius said, reaching up and planting a hand on Fenris' shoulder. The elf flinched, but still wore a blank, hollow look on his face. As though he still didn't know who or where he was. “Do not worry, Little Wolf. I will erase your memories when we get home and I have more strength to do so. You may put this whole, terrible time behind you.”

The group began their slow, painful journey back to the ship.

Ava tried to get Fenris's attention, but she was being made to look after Danarius and Hadriana was watching her every second. Fenris prowled around the group like a watchful hound. It was eery. His eyes never lighted on Ava for more than a few seconds at a time, and they tried to communicate nothing.

 

On the final night before they reached the ship, as Danarius lay in a fevered sleep, and everyone else attempted to slumber, Ava sat awake, putting cool cloths on the master's brow and watching Fenris prowl.

Suddenly he was beside her and his hand was on her wrist. His face too close to hers and he hissed, “are there long boats at the shore?”

“Fen-”

“Are there?” his fingers dig into her skin and she wriggled her wrist free, glaring. “Yes. Three. We left them there when we came into the jungle. We'll use them to get back to the ship.”

“Good. Come.” he stood, holding out a hand to her as though he had not just been acting in such an alarming way.

“What?”

“Come, Ava, please,” he said, glancing around at the sleeping forms. They had come to trust his watch, and were too weary and injured from the battle to worry about him now.

Ava stood, carefully placing her slim hand into his. It was warm, calloused, and certainly the hand of her friend. The one she knew, and had thought lost. “Where?”

“Freedom.”

The pair ran. Farther and faster than Ava had ever had need to run. When she tripped he pulled her up, never letting go her hand. The thick jungle leaves slapped at their faces. Branches and vines grappled and cut them, but they charged on, little heeding the sound of animals moving nearby.

Ava's lungs were ready to explode. It felt as though she were trying to breathe water. Her tough feet were bleeding and every muscle felt shaky as a newborn's. Still she gripped Fenris' hand. He had promised freedom and if this was what it felt like, then so be it.

They reached the shore as the pinkish fingers of dawn threatened on the horizon. Fenris urged her to keep low and they crept along, making for the longboats which were hauled ashore and waiting for Danarius's return. “We're stealing a boat?” Ava asked breathlessly.

“Yes, but first...” Fenris sneaked up to each boat in turn, and, using his sword like a lever, broke the little rudders. Then he stole all the oars These extra oars he put into the last boat, which would be for Ava and himself.

“We should have stolen food,” Ave mumbled as he indicated that she should climb in.

“I met someone while I was here, living with the Fog Warriors. A captain who sails this region frequently. He'll find us before we starve.” Fenris assured her

“A captain... you were living with the Fog Warriors?” This was all too much to take in. Ava just stared at the man as he pushed the longboat into the water until he was up to his waist, then jumped aboard. “But you killed them-”

“Hush.” His voice was tight and there was pain behind it now. She tried to see his face, to understand, but he looked away, instead working with the oars.

Ava hushed. She helped with the oars, arranging herself so that both she and he would row. Her legs may have been worn out, but she could still make good use of her arms. And, to her surprise, they were strong arms. Years of labor, of laundry, or hauling an carrying had made her lean, but well muscled. Not a runner perhaps, but a lifter, a carrier, a worker. Her tough hands didn't blister under the punishment of the oars. She put her back into the work as though she was born to it and fell into rhythm easily. Still she watched Fenris, who had his back to her, rowing as well. He said nothing, offered her nothing. Nothing but her freedom.

 

Ava was almost certain that Fenris's captain was not going to find them. Dehydrated, sunburned, and as far as she knew, hopelessly lost, the pair had struggled on through a day and another night. Every moment certain that they would see the sails of Danaruis's ship coming after them.

Then, on the morning of the second day, as the two had fallen into a tumble together to sleep in the middle of their little boat, Fenris' prediction came to pass.

They were hauled from the water and given food and drink, and welcome aboard a bluff little ship called The Griffon. The captain, a kind, boisterous man named Kale promised to take them to Fereldan and Ava's heart sang. She spoke with the crew and they all told her of a place where elves might not live under the thumb of magisters. They did mention Alienages, which confused Ava, but she little heeded as they told her of paying jobs she might hold. Of the life she might live as a free woman. She drank it in like good wine.

Fenris was quiet and somber as ever he had been since the markings were placed on him, but he still spared Ava some time to talk, explaining in few words how the Fog Warriors had helped him. Healed him and taught him. How he slew them foolishly when bidden by Danarius. The last act of the slave that finally died inside him that day in the jungle.

“Where will we go?” she asked, hugging her knees and watching him as she so often did. He was a fascinating puzzle, this man. She wished she might have a chance to parse it out.

“We will not go anywhere,” he explained sadly. “My friends will take you to Fereldan. A small port city where there will be jobs waiting for you. They will take me somewhere else. Somewhere far from you. Kirkwall perhaps.”

“I know Kirkwall,” Ava said, feeling intelligent. She had heard the place spoken of, if sparingly.

Fenris raised his eyebrows and graced her with a quick smile. “I wish I could tell you to visit me there, Ava, but I cannot. When we separate we must go our own ways. We must never be seen together again until we are certain that Danarius and Hadriana are both dead.”

Ava thought about this. It stung to be told she was not welcome in his life any longer, but she understood why. That part of her mind that allowed her to be struck, to be punished and belittled without showing a glint of emotion, was still a strong, dominant part. She could see this pain, understand it, turn it away and bear it. She gritted her teeth, “If Hadriana and Danarius are killed?”

“It shall be by my hand.” Fenris snarled with a wicked smile of his own. Ava found she liked the ferocity of it. “And then I will find you. But until that moment Danarius will dog my steps. He will not rest long before he seeks me again. You will be safer without me. It is unlikely that Hadriana will seek you as doggedly as my master will hunt me. If she seeks you at all.”

“And I'll be free?”

“You'll be free.”

 

Arrows and magic flew in every direction as skeletons were awakened and made to fight against them. Fenris shattered these magicked attackers with his sword, sending shards of bone flying. Merrill, that wild little apostate, was very skilled with her spells, though he would never admit it. A fist made of stone came crashing down, crushing a skeleton that was going to slash at Fenris's back.

Hawke was fighting nearby. He could hear her excited cries of victory as she darted this way and that like a deadly adder. Her daggers might have been little use against the skeletons, but she made do, punching more than slashing, and finding her usual glee in the task. He had to hide a smile. He loved the way she fought. A wild cat at his side.

With the enemy dispatched the party regrouped and took in the room. Fenris saw her first. A huddled shape, hiding in the corner. Pale, blond hair and pointed ears. An elf. Almost certainly one of Hadriana's slaves. She rushed to her, “are you hurt? Did they touch you?” he asked urgently.

“They've been killing everyone,” she squeaked, her eyes huge and frightened. She didn't look terribly well fed, and someone, Hadriana no doubt, had plastered her face with the most ridiculous makeup Fenris had ever seen. “They cut Papa. Bled him! The magister said she needed power. That someone was coming to kill her.”

“That would be us,” Hawke said, a little smirk on her lips.

Fenris ignored this as they listened to the rest of the elf's tale. Of blood magic and death. When she was finished, Hawke offered Orana (for that was the girl's name) a job at the Hawke estate. Fenris felt his heart glow with momentary happiness. Then he leaned closer to the young woman, gently taking her frail arm, “Orana, I need you to tell me one more thing.”

“Yes?” she asked meekly.

“Do you know a slave called Ava? Was one such woman ever brought back to the estate, or was her death ever mentioned that you know?”

“Fenris?” asked Hawke. He ignored her for the moment, trying to look into Orana's eyes. They way she avoided his reminded him all the more strongly of the woman he had lost. 'Eyes' she would scold him. He tried to imagine hers. Dark brown and always searching. Always disobeying her own rules.

“No,” Orana said, her tone deeply earnest. “The other slaves talked about her sometimes. She used to belong to Mistress. She was killed by Fog Warriors they said.”

Fenris exhaled a sigh and stood back from the young elf. Hawke's brows came together as she caught his look. “Fenris, why do you look suddenly...happy?”

She waved her off, a calmness coming over him. “No reason,” he said. As the group moved on deeper into the cave, seeking after the hated Hadriana to end her life, he thought of Ava one more time, and, in spite of himself, smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there you go. This odd little fic. As I said, this is my cotton candy. My junk food fic. If it was also your cup of tea I hoped you enjoyed the read.
> 
> I did make a few changes to the story Fenris tells Hawke about how he escaped. In my version he sneaked away instead of murdering his way to freedom, but I figured he might have lied just a little bit to Hawke, just to be safe. His original plan was to cut his way to freedom through the soldiers after all. It just worked out better this way.
> 
> If you've read The New Ways of Old Gods you'll recognize Kale and his ship. Couldn't resist the cameo.
> 
> This probably isn't the last you'll see of Ava either. I have an idea for one more fic with her which I may or may not right some day. If you enjoyed her, give her a shout out to let me know you want more ;)
> 
> Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah. Like I said, this is mostly a fic i wrote for myself, but if you have the same tastes as me, I hope you enjoy!


End file.
